Knuckles, Just Knuckles
by TaheenKiller19
Summary: Sonic characters in a film noir. Knuckles has been hired to find Tails years after Eggman's death. KnuxRouge, TailsAmy Complete!
1. A Job

Ok, TK here. Here's a little bit of pointless noir fiction with our echidna of the year. This is an alternate universe, so nothing's accurate, except the characters are the same people. Reviews always welcome!

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It had all come down to this. Just me and her, and her and me. We were the only two left.

Her eyes bored into mine, and I just glared back as we paced around one another, seeking a weak point, waiting to see what the other would do.

This wasn't the first time she'd done this, I don't think so. Nor was it my first time. After all, I did have to consider how this had occurred in the first place…

(Angel Island, 2 weeks earlier)

(It's raining hard. Dark, suggestive jazz starts playing. Close in on small office.)

The deal to end it all. That's what I thought. That's the one thing that crossed my mind that one day.

I knew it was big, first off. After all, you just don't call Knux for any old business.

That's my name, by the way. Knuckles. Just…Knuckles. Plain ol' Knuckles, P.I. I took up the new job after I started to find out that being a guardian time and time again pays nearly zilch, so there I was.

Anyway, I had been just sitting there when she walked in, which was a pity. I'd planned to take the day off with a friend of mine. The kind of friend that comes in a bottle. But a job's a job, after all. Pays the bills, Sonic would say.

She came in the way all clients of the gentle sex do – quiet, nervous – just ready to cut a deal. I was just about to start talkin' when she turned her head towards me. I would have spotted those green eyes and those pink quills a mile off, if it weren't for the fact that all noir fiction is in black and white.

Amy. Amy Rose. A loaded dame if ever there was one. And I had a distinct urge to "un" load her pretty soon. I've got those "sharks" from Chaotix on my back these days. But Amy and me had what you might call…history. She had always been Sonic's ticket, but that certainly didn't take her off my list, no sir. She'd certainly been in high society ever since the design for that hammer of hers had reached The Sharper Image.

I broke the silence by flicking open my Zippo and lit a cigarette, my fifth today.

It seemed to wake her up, like I had just started banging on a gong or something. She opened her mouth at last.

"I've got a job, Knux."

_If it's another sneaky husband story,_ I thought,_ I'm joining Chaotix._

She looked at me, waiting for some sort of kind, fatherly response. None came. She went on. "I, um, I need to find Tails."

I puffed out some smoke nonchalantly. There it goes. One more sneaky husband, coming up.

You see, after she left me, Amy had struck up with some other guy I knew, a fox called Tails, a guy with an eye for technology and a nose for trouble. After our Team Sonic days he'd cashed out pretty good on some of his designs. The company, Prower Enterprises, made everything from planes to plates, and everything in between. Matter of fact, I think they make the .44 I keep back in my closet.

But anyway, I had no interest in finding some kitsune who talked like he'd swallowed a mouthful of helium. I crossed my arms in front of me, my eternal sign of stubbornness and reluctance. "What, seen him with someone?"

"No, he'd just been working on a new design, an Emerald-powered car. Well, he was at a meeting yesterday to license the patent, and I haven't seen him since."

I took another drag on my cigarette. I was interested. Industrial espionage plus kidnapping equals enough money to retire for Knuckles. "It'll cost you two hundred a day, plus expenses. What else should I know?"

"Well, if anyone's planning to steal it, the prototype's currently at the altar of the Emerald."

"Thanks. When do I start?"

"Whenever you're ready, Knux."

The way she said that, I realized that maybe she hadn't totally forgotten about us. Shame, because I had. I gave my best phony smile, and she left. I followed three minutes later, with enough cigarettes and bullets to last the night. The .44 bumped against my ribs in its shoulder holster, a feeling that had almost become too unfamiliar to me.

I walked out into the night, trying to figure out what I knew. Tails had evidently been onto something big, this car of his, apparently. Emerald energy is big these days, and that had led to a greater demand for every last one of them, a problem I was glad I was no longer Guardian for. The prototype of this car was at the altar. At least it was familiar territory.

But that was it. The motive could also be personal, and the theft of the plans for the car might just be a cover.

As I crossed by the next break in the glass-and-concrete canyon that my home has become, I realized that I had also forgotten to take my friend liquor with me. I lit another cigarette, just to compensate.

But it was hopeless. I needed hard answers and a drink. I knew a place where one can find both. Plus, the owner has an eye for emeralds, and maybe even me.

I crossed the street, and came face to face with my favorite booze pit.

Club Rouge…

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Good? Bad? Let me know!! Pleeeeeease!


	2. Club Rouge

I'd always thought of Club Rouge as the sort of club that's really a factory. The rich and famous go in, the poor and despondent leave. Tip: If you have money, don't take it here.

You enter the club to find what you always do. A ritzy, ballroom-style casino. The people there are always the same, too. The haves, and the have-mores. The casino whores. The tough guys. And the usual assortment of the Ultimate Lifeform mob, with their sharp Armani suits and the telltale bulges under their arms. But this is only the beginning of the club. There's another world beneath it.

As usual, I strode through the small side door by a baccarat table where some old-timer was hitting on some casino girl. Would he succeed?

_Depends how lucky he's been with the deck tonight,_ I thought, and walked into the back room of Club Rouge.

It's nice enough, if you're like the people there. If you're a drunk, or down-and-out, or a crook of any kind, this is the place for you. It has but two functions: Fill 'em up, and throw 'em out.

I sat down to find Ms. Rouge the Bat herself on the other end of the bar. Her low-line, late-night attire, though very fetching, was totally out of place here in the underbelly of society.

"Same?" came the perennial question, like those clerks who always ask you if you found everything all right. They know you will answer "Yes," because a negative is just wrong in the context. Before I'd even finished answering, my double Jack and Coke lay in front of me.

For once in my life, the thought of information drowned out my thirst. "Not tonight, Rouge." Like I said, totally out of context, right? She visibly stiffened. Fortunately, I have a cure for that.

I dropped a twenty on the table. I doubt it was there two seconds before she snatched it. "I need to know about emeralds. Energy-wise, I mean."

Trust Rouge to determine her mood on the outcome of a bunch of gems. She'd been left out in the cold too when emeralds became big. Any chance to get into the business again was always greeted with the utmost enthusiasm. She sat down, behind the bar. As she did, I couldn't manage to keep my eyes away from that dark chasm of her cleavage.

As always, she noticed. "Bad Knuckles. Go to my room."

I smiled. "Sometime for sure, Rouge. Just talk, and we'll see."

She pouted prettily, but me and Rouge are of that rare breed that values money above sex. We both know that cash is the reason some die lonely and some "get more" than a toilet seat. After her gorgeous little sulk, she sat down, and talked…

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Emerald Island at night always stops you cold. Cold as the grave. I walked out of the club after some talk, some foreplay, and a good screw. The former and the latter were both on my mind.

Apparently, emerald-powered anything is hotter than ever. The demand for new energy sources coupled with the new trend of "hot cars" had led to an all-out price war between every corporation from here to Knothole over the emeralds and the cars. As usual, Prower held the lead. Tails was on the verge of power beyond his wildest dreams, undisputed control of the most valuable substance on Mobius – Chaos emeralds.

As a result, every other big name in the industrial world wanted him down, ASAP. But whoever took out Tails would need some muscle on Angel, some sort of foothold. There were only four such people. I swiftly ruled out the one I had shot.

Lost in thought, I crossed into an alley, always a bad idea if you're not ready for it. A soft click behind me made me stop dead in my tracks the way only a MR Desert Eagle fifty-caliber can.

I didn't even need to turn around to see who it was. I also knew who the guy with the foothold had to be. The one guy in this 'burg up to his eyeballs in everything from extortion to murder.

Shadow.


	3. Lost, Found, and Found Again

TK again. This chapter's a bit short for me, but I kinda need the exposition time. Forgive me, I will update it soon, though.

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There were, I believe, two ways to resolve the current problem. I ruled out a heart-to-heart.

He had me with my back to him, with my hands up and my cigarettes in my pocket. A real pity, because I'd really have preferred to bite the dust with one last drag.

I wondered if I should ask my least favorite ultimate life form why I would be found tomorrow in a landfill next to Jimmy Hoffa, but Shadow is that rare kind of bad guy who doesn't monologue. Which only raised the question of why I wasn't already dead.

That voice of his, that sound of oil over water, that smooth, cold ripple, seemed to echo all around the dusty alley. "Any last requests, knucklehead?"

I guessed now would have been the time to utter something cliché, or to say some prayer, but there was only one desire in my mind. With an accepting nod from Shadow, I reached for my last cigarette.

Funnily enough my shoulder holster is closer to my hand than my breast pocket.

I whirled around, the .44 in my hand once again, the hammer as far back as it went.

To find nobody behind me.

I looked around, purely out of habit. Experience has taught me that if Shadow was gone, he was _really_ gone, as in not even on the same side of town.

Walking was getting boring, and I was out of cigarettes, so I decided to retreat to yet another layer of the city. The one that smells of mildew, cheap aftershave and dog piss. The subway.

So, I found myself on a deserted, rattling train headed uptown. There were only three other people on the train, two bigbadgers and a chipmunk with a small hairline mustache.

They were trying not to show it, but I could see their occasional glances in my direction. Their fake conversation that covered one fact.

They were watching me.

At my station, something…odd happened. Some guy in an overcoat was in the crowd. The casual observer would have just seen another commuter, but I saw a man who had a date with destiny.

As we passed, I felt a slight ruffle in my hand. I didn't slow down, I didn't look down. I just carefully put whatever it was the guy had handed me in my pocket, and walked on home.

But my night wasn't over yet. In fact, a burglary, a death threat, and an old friend would all take a cameo of my little drama before the night was no longer young.

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As always, R&R is always nice. Thanks again!


	4. The Breakin

Here we go again. Not a whole lot to say, really. This one's not much more than an extention of the last chapter, which was kinda short. Anyway, enjoy!

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The instant I walked in I could see something was wrong. It was like one of those pictures where you have to find eight things wrong, or whatever. But there were small things. Like the magazine I had left my keys on was now askew, and my keys were at the other end of the room, and so on.

I walked around my apartment. It got worse. My entire file cabinet appeared to have been rifled through with a screwdriver. The files themselves were out of order.

And yet, nothing seemed to be missing. Whatever they were looking for, they hadn't found it.

"You like our handiwork, señor Knuckles?"

My ear pricked up immediately. My hand pricked up even faster. My .44 was out in the direction of the voice in no time.

Unsurprisingly enough, it was the chipmunk that had been following me on the train. With him were three goombahs from the Chaotix. Looked like Mighty, Espio, and Vector too, complete with fancy suits and fancy fifty-cals.

"We believe that you have something that belongs to us, señor. It was stolen from us, and it seems that it was passed on to you."

"No clue what you mean," I countered bluntly.

"Please, señor, do not try to bullshit us. You were Sonic's closest confidante. We know he would have passed it on to you."

"Yeah, well, he never passed anything, so piss off."

The sallow guy nodded to the three guys. "Then I am sorry, señor."

Apparently, Espio had been sneaking up on us while I had been talking. That invisibility thing's a real pisser. Before I knew what hit me, the gun was gone from my hand, and a stinging sucker punch was left in its place.

The lanky chameleon reappeared at my desk, my gun in his hand.

Vector turned to me. "Sorry it has to be this way, Knux."

"Yeah, but a job's a job," Mighty chimed in.

Great. I was about to get completely maimed by three muscle men who were sorry about doing it. I could see the headlines, "Small-Time P.I. Murdered by the Apologetic Killers". What a world.

I actually think I did pretty well, considering the circumstances. I actually managed to floor Mighty, and I did put a pretty good set of hits into Espio. Knuckles might have been grayer than the last time he put the spikes on, but he ain't weaker.

Of course, that was before Vector got me into a headlock and Espio got out a set of brass knuckles. The last thing I remember before Espio put his fist through my solar plexus was the sound of "Iron Man" coming from Vector's headphones.

_Is he alive or dead?_

_Has he thoughts within his head?_

Brother, I'm about to be neither alive nor dead, and all thoughts in my head are about to cease.

Wham.

The next thing I knew, my head was in Rouge's lap, her hand caressing my long dreds. Lovely, were it not for the fact the rest of me was in more pain than it had been in for a long time.

I wondered how she had got in, and then decided I didn't want to know.

I was about to make some sort of quip when something struck my attention in a way it never has before. Something so utterly groundbreaking it almost made me forget that I probably needed to see a doctor.

Rouge was crying.

The world we live in is harsh. No questions, no answers, only money. We either accept it and move on, or die in the shallows of misery. To see someone in this life of fast cash and faster death show some tenderness was enough to raise a tear to my eye, as well.

And so we both just stayed there, on the floor of my crummy apartment, crying our eyes out. I'd thought she was hot, that much was certain, but this was something else.

_I'm going to solve this one,_ I thought. _And if not for the money, for Rouge and me._

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Please R&R, I do so enjoy it. I promise I will update soon.


	5. The Last Meal

The next day, after it had been established that my spine hadn't telescoped, I got up bright and early to try and piece some sort of idea together. Fortunately, I wasn't doing it alone.

Rouge, after considerable persuasion (read no persuasion), had decided to stay the night. At the moment, the aforementioned bat was curled up on my bed, her red silk negligee contrasting nicely with the white sheets.

I sat in my old leather armchair across from the bed, leaning back against the soft back of the seat, facing the bed avec Rouge. Weirdly enough, my street smarts are at their peak in the presence of hot chicks. That's a fortunate plus for me.

I tried to conjure up all I knew, which wasn't much. Tails was missing as a result of either a prototype car or the aspect of Chaos power. Apparently, there was at least one group that didn't want me in the picture, and they appeared to have the Chaotix and Shadow with them as well.

Or was Shadow with another group? Whoever was working the chipmunk and Vector would know that having Shadow try to scare me _and_ have the Chaotix bully boys soften me up was worthless. It would be like trying to kill a fly with a sledgehammer. Overkill, Sonic would have said.

But then why had the Chaotix come to my place? Before Espio cleaned my clock, I could vaguely remember the sallow chipmunk mentioning something about something I had to have had. But Sonic, after all, had departed from this world leaving Tails and me nothing but aches and pains. I could remember that day very well. That one time on Angel Island itself where Robotnik had tried to plant a nuke on the island to take us all out. By the end of the day, Robotnik had been down with the fishes, with Sonic to keep him company. That spot was now the location of some big enterprising firm. But in any case, I didn't have what they wanted.

Unless…

I reached into my coat pocket and withdrew the manila envelope that had been passed to me on the train. It jingled.

Opening it, I found nothing but a small key and a slip of paper with a small card attached.

I read the paper first.

_Knuckles,_

_These two items enclosed are the two keys to safe #3246 in Station Square. I wish I could explain further, but I am being pursued at the moment, and I myself am unable to gain access to the safe, which requires a thumbprint as well._

_Take care of yourself,_

_A friend._

Very nice. Looked like I was now part of another case that was a mystery only to me.

I was jolted from my train of thought when Rouge stirred on the bed. The red silk was pulled seductively against her breasts as she opened her eyes.

She smiled at me, a gesture I gave right back. That old lurch in my midriff, caused only by love or gunshots, rose once again.

"Good morning," she cooed.

"Morning to you, sexy," I replied.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Involving you, or the case?"

"Both," came the reply.

"Well, on the case, nil. If you're free, I'd like to try and find out just who'd be interested on emerald energy."

"Business before pleasure, Knuckles?" She pouted prettily on the bed, batting her long lashes at me.

"Work is work," I said coyly.

Of course, that was before I lay back down on the bed. Business will have to wait.

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Later, she was sitting at the kitchen table, with me scraping up (read lavishly serving) a breakfast consisting of pancakes, sausages, bacon, and everything in between.

Between mouthfuls of this world's finest breakfast (it is, too), I tried to turn to the problem at hand.

"Does Prower manufacture emeralds?"

She swallowed first. "No, why?"

"Because if a company as big as Prower needed emerald energy, they'd be pretty desperate to get the contract."

"At the present, the two major emerald companies are Robco and Cinos. Robco's a splinter group from Robotnik's old outfit. I can't really tell you anything about Cinos."

I could, but not a whole lot. It was a success story that had reached every paper and touched every heart. It had come completely out of nowhere two years ago, and had since dominated the emerald commune just as mercilessly as Robco.

"Okay," I said, leaving emeralds aside. "How could we find Tails?"

"Other than following the women?"

I snorted, but she had a point. With Tails current standing in society coupled with his boyish innocence that refused to die, he had been voted by Angel Magazine to be the Sexiest Mobian Alive five times in a row. Add to that an old weakness for the ladies, and what you had was a long analogue of females in Mr. Prower's life.

Which begged the question of why Amy would really care enough to be paying mucho dinero to see him again. After all, Tails must have been about as faithful as Bill Clinton after one too many.

Not my business, not my business…

But the more we thought the more it became clear: Shadow had been working for someone other than the people who hired the Chaotix. Whether that was Cinos or Robco, or neither, it didn't matter.

And the more we thought about that, the more it became apparent.

We needed to find out exactly who Shadow was working for. Which meant only one thing.

We needed to burgle Shadow's place.

_Yup, it's the case to end all cases,_ I thought, realizing that I now was forced to walk into the most dangerous place in Station Square.

But probably not walk out.

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Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease review!

-TK


	6. Some Revelation

Rain pounded the streets like machine gun fire; thunder rippling off the skyscrapers like a pinball between the posts. How fitting that the weather in this 'burg couldn't even shape up for my last day on Mobius.

Because that's what it was. We'd drawn straws, and with my luck, I came up short.

So here I was, on the corner of Death Avenue and Pain Street, waiting until midnight. Shadow had always been a night owl, too, so we'd assumed he wouldn't be there. Not that it would matter in the end.

But while I was waiting, there wasn't a whole lot of point in not enjoying my life before it was forcibly taken out of commission.

So, with the thought that Amy would be paying, I found myself in one of the more upscale bars in town, the sort where the pool tables aren't ripped, so you can lose your money to a con _in style_.

But in any case, the bar didn't have any of the usual tough guys, just your weasely smartasses. Which was fine. Fists work wonders on sniveling cretins.

I paid for my usual double scotch, and even treated myself to a steak, as well.

While I was knocking back my sample of the poison that kills slowly, I noticed the rather attractive fox checking me out. She didn't look dirty or nothing, just a very nice-looking broad, you know. And while Tails would be all over her by now, I was somewhat more reserved just to wink at her.

Which was, of course, when I noticed the rabbit behind me.

The guy was the type that has never lost a fight mainly because he'd never picked a real one. As it was, he was content to pretend like he was really something. He had an impeccably crafted hairdo, plus one of the more flattering suits that say, "I'm a real man, and you're not".

"I don't like you looking at my girl," said Big Chief Wannabe.

I flipped open my Zippo, lighting yet another tap end. "That's a pity, 'cause I am," I said, laconically breathing a lungful of smoke into the guy's face.

The guy's smile gave off the aura that this weekend tough guy honestly thought he was winning the stare down. "Yeah, that's right, loser, you just back off, just don't even look back, man –"

That was, of course, before I lifted him up by his lapels with one hand while drinking my shot with the other.

As testified by the darkening stain on the guy's pants, I did indeed have the upper hand.

"Tell you what, pal. I'll look as long as I want, and you go wash the piss out of your Armani slacks. Capeesh?"

As I dropped him, the guy scrambled off to the restroom.

I finished my drink and my steak and paid. The funny thing for me was that the fight had been started over a girl who hadn't particularly interested me. Whatever, I had more important things to think about. Like funeral arrangements.

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Shadow's block is a makeup of ritzy apartments where all the residents have their dirty laundry deep down, like a tower to the heavens that was made of nothing but slime. Here lived those who had gotten ahead by putting others behind – often way behind. Could have sworn I saw Cream up in one of the nicer suites (She had, after all, hired me to bump off her old lady, a tale for another day). Of course, it was here that Shadow, one of the higher-paid enforcers of the mob, abided.

One dizzying climb and one window with the catch broken later, I was in. I had successfully gained entrance to my own personal Waterloo.

Shadow's mahogany desk stood in the corner of the ornate room, bearing, simply enough, a computer and a file cabinet.

I took a peek in the filing cabinet, rifling anything about anything I could find.

When I saw it. Cinos Deal. If that wasn't a brazen invitation, I don't know what was.

I pocketed the entire file. For security, I also took all the floppy disks from the computer area. That out of the way, I decided I might take a look around. Perhaps there was a set of silver-and-pearl cufflinks or some designer sunglasses with my name on it. Hey, a guy's gotta make a living, and theft is not below Knuckles, P.I. Pays the bills, you might say. Like Bill, my parole officer.

When I walked past the bedroom to notice one of the more unnerving experiences of my career.

The lights weren't on, but the light from the many scented crimson candles compensated enough. The white silk sheets of the bed were littered with rose petals. Some schmaltzy, lovey-dovey song was playing in the background.

And there, on the bed, were Shadow and my current employer, cute pink quills and all.

An old joke goes, "Question: How do hedgehogs mate? Answer: Very carefully." Laughter machine into overdrive. If "carefully" referred to casually, inactively, or unimpassioned, then one could assume that Amy Rose and the Ultimate Life-Form were in fact performing "dangerously".

Verrrrrry "dangerously".

And interesting though it was to watch the two go at it, it did raise the issue of why my employer in this case was sleeping with the guy determined to stop me solving the aforementioned case.

Oh, yeah, and the fact that the dude I was trying to avoid was indeed home.

So it looked like I would be the only guy in this apartment proceeding "very carefully".

As quietly as a mouse, I brought my .44 out of my coat and silently walked past the room back into Shadow's office. I wanted to get as much as I could before I amscrayed.

There were, of course, noticeable amounts of mail and other trash on his desk. I realized I would have to move quickly when I noticed the safe.

It was a regular, six-combination lock, black and silver. No trouble to crack.

I reached into my pocket to get out the gloves I had brought. I felt a soft jingle against my fingers. I had brought the key I had found in the envelope by mistake.

A little while later, the safe lay open in front of me. I found myself looking at rows of stuff, namely some fancy jewelry, a couple Rolexes, and some ominous white powder (Shadow wasn't dumb enough to use it, but who wouldn't say no to the money that pushing it would bring).

When, once again, I felt the cold circle of metal in the back of my neck as the barrel of Shadow's gun was leveled at me.

"Knucklehead. I had a feeling you weren't a shut case just yet. You know, you're the kind of guy who makes the job –"

I would have liked to chat. Really, I would have. Once you get to know me, I'm pretty sentimental. But, I was short on time, so I simply pistol-whipped Shadow without even looking.

After the Ultimate Whatever was out, I helped myself to the Rolexes and left the way I came.

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As I walked the desolate streets of the city, the rain still pattering against the sidewalk, I recapped my situation. Within four days of being on the case, I'd developed a business partner, been held up in an alley, received a package containing a note, a code card and a key, been beaten within an inch of my life, and now looted the home of the most dangerous man in town.

The case to end all cases, indeed.


	7. The Robco Affair

Whew! This one took a while. Sorry for the wait, please R&R!

Upon entering my apartment, I had the rather unsettling revelation that the code key from the envelope was missing. I still had the metal key in my pocket, and according to the note that the guy sent me, the vault required three keys to open it, and so it wouldn't do her any good.

Did I say her? Well, who else could it have been? I suppose it was only fair, we're partners, she gets one half, I get one half, you know. But, she had stolen my key. Was she really so trustworthy?

As I closed the door behind me (a habit I picked up during my stay at the Hotel Fed), my "partner" walked out into the hall, still wearing her bathrobe. "So?"

"So what?" I replied teasingly.

"What happened? You've been out five hours."

I smiled. It almost sounded like she was worried or something. "Oh, a little bit of this and that…"

She grabbed me by the lapels jokingly. "Just tell me! Jeez!"

"Okay, I went to a bar where a very attractive vixen began to check me out. Her boyfriend didn't like it, so I made him see things in a different light. I entered Shadow's place successfully, lifting some documents, some valuables, you know. And here I am."

I "forgot" to mention the black and pink ball of quills that had been Shadow and Amy, but hey, some things are just too good to share.

"So, what else did you steal?"

I threw the entire score on the hall table. It consisted of some cash in large bills, several platinum bars, some crack, and a number of large jewels.

The latter drove Rouge to the table like a moth to the flame.

"Marry me," she muttered dreamily, running her hands over a 5-oz sapphire.

"Later. Let's see what's in these documents."

Well, with the first two pages that I read, it became rapidly clear that Shadow was indeed with Cinos and not Robco. Meaning that the Chaotix were with Robco. I never thought I'd find the Chaotix working with an ex-Robotnik front, but times is tough, even for me. Me, the goody-two-shoes guardian of the Master Emerald. Me, who has risen to one of the most in-demand hired-guns/private investigators on Mobius. Me, who has wasted what's left of my life on tobacco, alcohol, and bullets.

Kind of brings a tear to the eye, but I ain't complainin'. I've had my moments.

That said, it was time to bring the fight to Robco, having taken out Shadow, and probably set Cinos back a way. You know, when a man's up against two of the largest corporations under the sun, things get a bit dicey. Fortunately, I've got the best on my side.

"Sounds like it's time to read up on Robco, then," I told Rouge.

"Got a laptop that can help you hack their site. I set it up in your office."

Yes sir, she's the best. "Groovy. I'll take a nap, and then I'll take a look."

She reached out and grabbed me by my tie. "Mind if I join you?"

Damn, she _is_ the best…

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After some reading in bed, courtesy of Rouge's CPU, I knew enough about Robco to shake a stick at. It's a direct offshoot of Eggman's outfit, which you already knew. Started four years ago by one of his chief lieutenants, Roland, a mongoose who was spared being roboticized for his service. I'd fought him a couple times. He was a good shot, and a great administrator. Trust him to get Robco running smooth. I could find it within myself to admire Roland, but he had, after all, sent three bullyboys who went in for brass knuckles, a cheap shot if ever there was one. Their headquarters was located in Station Square, in one of the finer commercial districts.

And then there was Cinos, which gave me nil. It was run by a trust of private investors, none of whom were known to the public. It operated out of several smaller headquarters, most on Angel Island, many in Knothole. It also had a warehouse where Robotnik had tried to nuke us all, which was a coincidence. I'd been to that warehouse a couple times.

If I was going to put pressure on Robco – and I was – I needed help. Tails no longer figured into the picture, the case was probably bogus. If Amy was sleeping with Cinos's head enforcer, then the chances of an honest case were out the window. However, I controlled one of three keys (Rouge had obviously taken the other) passed to me on a subway, which apparently opened a high-security safe in Station Square. And, according to the sallow chipmunk from the break-in, that was what everyone was worried about. And since Robco and Cinos were working separately to get it back, I would indeed need some help.

But who was there? I ran a list through my head of all my associates from "the good old days".

Sonic? Dead.

Tails? Missing.

Amy? Obviously not.

Cream? Rich bitch now, no fight at all.

Big? Dead.

Rouge? Got her.

E-123 Omega? Dead, and that one's my fault.

Chaotix? With Robco.

Shadow? With Cinos.

Yup, I was indeed stuck with Rouge. But, after all, she's the best.

Twenty minutes later, Rouge and I were dressed to the nines in our sharpest businesswear. I in my black-on-black with the violet tie (Rouge remarked that it matched my eyes), her in a stylish red office suit. Of course, there were two reasons for us to be all spiffy. One was to blend in. The other was to conceal our metal.

My black jacket was hiding my .44 very nicely, and for extra protection, I had fit another just like it against my hip; Rouge (don't ask me how) had managed to holster a 20-bullet Tech-9 against the inside of her thigh. The briefcases we were both carrying each held one AK-47 apiece, plus ammo for all the others. We took the high-class commuter train to Robco's HQ, and a short walk later, there we were.

The building was a silvery-green colossus of steel and glass. It was a gorgeously sunny day, with just enough clouds to set the scene. The skyscraper glinted in the light, a building's smile, urging on trade and business and all things commercial.

We looked at it, looked at each other, grinned, and walked in. The building gave one last Cheshire smile, and then we were struck by the air conditioning of the lobby.

The floor was marble white, the walls light blue. Leather furniture occupied patched of the mauve carpeting, on which the business elite were talking with each other. Soft, dreamy piano music seeped from the speakers, and the atmosphere smelled of lilac. A three-tier fountain made entirely out of crystal stood at the center of the elaborate carpeting. Here was a place in which the greatest of the great would "hang out."

The receptionist was an extremely attractive hedgehog with reddish quills that swept silkily across her eyes. "Puis-je vous aider?" she said in a rich accent that spoke of the authenticity of her Frenchness.

Rouge looked at me questioningly, so I took over. "Oui. Nous voulons rencontrer Monsieur Roland."

"Voulez-vous planifier un rendez-vous avec Monsieur Roland quand?"

"Maintenant. C'est urgent."

"D'accord. Votre nom, monsieur?"

It occurred to me that leaving my real name would be a bad idea. "Je m'appelle Jamie Powell."

"O.K., Je vais dire à Roland que vous etes ici."

"Merci, mademoiselle."

Rouge looked at me, befuddled. "I didn't know you spoke French! What happened?"

"Under the name of Jamie Powell, we are about to meet Roland."

She looked at me with a weird expression. "You're full of surprises, you know that?"

"Of course. That's what makes me so appealing."

A soft ping alerted us to the fact that the elevator had arrived. The doors opened, and flanked by Vector and the sallow chipmunk, Roland himself walked out, his gray fur cut into an immaculate goatee. The look was topped by a perfectly tailored Armani waistcoat, with an Ascot tie.

All hopes of a cover faded before my eyes. Roland might not have recognized me, but Vector or Sallow most certainly would.

Vector whispered something in Roland's ear. "You're sure?" he replied in a classy, cultured voice, the kind you hear on Masterpiece Theater.

Vector nodded.

Roland snapped his fingers, and an amazing thing happened. Every "businessperson" in the lobby suddenly snapped to their feet, guns in hand. Rouge and I were looking at weapons I hadn't even known were legal.

The demure, high-class voice of Roland the Mongoose spoke up again. "I'm not sure what you're business is here, Mr. Knuckles, but Vector assures me that you are armed. That said, I would like to know why. However, since this makes the second time you have made an unexpected appearance in our agenda, I will make sure there is no third time."

He nodded to the business elite/gunslingers, and it all began.

Rouge and I went instinctively for the receptionist's desk, landing in a heap behind it. The bullet that had been headed for me took Sallow through the chest. His white shirt instantly became a white and red tye-die job, and he crumpled backwards with a muffled sigh.

The lobby erupted into noise as the entire vanguard began to pummel the marble-on-silver desk with lead. Rouge had her MP out, and I had unholstered my two .44s long ago. I shouted to her over the din.

"Need some covering fire, babe!"

She nodded, and reached over the desk with her machine pistol, wildfiring into the crowd. I took advantage of the break in incoming fire to straighten up with my pistols.

I don't think too hard in a gunfight. My hands do the thinking for me. With every action my eye catches, my hands snap into action, my .44s thudding out their old song of death to the masses. Rouge was by now up and firing normally, her three-shot bursts keeping the beat of a lighting quick waltz, the two different songs of our guns firing a hail of lead at the posse of assailants.

Blam blam blam! Chowchowchow! Chowchowchow!

I realized I was out of ammo. Dimly, I reached into my briefcase to get more clips. As I did, a shot struck the counter, kicking up some pieces of marble, which pinged harmlessly off my hand.

The desk wasn't going to hold, that much was sure. We would have to take them out sooner, or we'd be without a cover soon enough.

A flicker on my left alerted me that some goombah with an M-16 was aiming at Rouge. I fingered the triggers, the hammers snapped forward, and with another _Blam Blam_ the guy fell forwards, his legs kicking out stupidly behind him.

A slug from the French receptionist's's rifle nicked Rouge's wing, throwing off her aim. Her burst fire took the receptionist through the arm, instead of in the head. Rouge finished her off by emptying her gun into the hedgehog receptionist's sizeable chest. She gave one last "Oh, la, la!" before her guts were blown out of her back. A crimson mist settled over where she had stood.

By and by, they were closing in. I looked into Rouge's perfect emerald eyes, and she into mine. Then we reached for the AKs.

The AK-47 is a beast of a weapon. As we poured round after round of 7.62 into them, this fact was probably running through both our minds. A slug hit my arm, taking a tiny amount of meat with it. My AK struck back, cutting the businessman in half with a loud _buddabuddabudda_.

And that was it. Rouge and I gasped for breath, adrenaline leaving our system as endorphins took over. We began to giggle as we collapsed onto the floor, exhausted.

It occurred to me that I needed a smoke, and I had left them all at my place. "Rouge, you got a coffin nail?"

"Oh, the best. Try one." She passed me a cigarette with a gold band over the leaf.

I lit it, and was met by the taste of minty, tingly sweet smoke in my mouth. "Is this Knothole 'bacco?" I said happily, letting out the delicious smoke in rings.

"Mm-hm." She smiled at me, lighting her own. Like I said, the best. Way better than my coffin nails, for sure.

Vector and Roland were still standing there, utterly shocked. When Sallow Chipmunk had bitten the dusk, Roland's left sleeve had been spattered in blood. It was still dripping a little when Rouge and I walked up to him, our legs still shaky from the aftermath of the battle.

The scene was grisly. About twenty bodies littered the lobby, which now resembled Swiss cheese with all the holes that had been punched through its blue paneling. The fountain in the center was now streaming water in which scarlet billows of blood were flowing, due to the gunman who now lay at the bottom with two loads through his face. Spatter patterns of blood and brains decorated the marble floor. The classical music was still playing through the speakers. In essence, Number 1451, Main Street now resembled a Stanley Kubric scene melded with a war zone.

Roland just stared at us, the dust settling on his suit. "Look, Knux, I don't know you personally, I really just –"

"We came here to talk, Roland. It's a crying shame we had to kill all your security to do it."

"W-what do you want to know?"

"Everything. Why are you after me and Rouge? Who's behind Cinos? And where's Miles Prower?"

"Get me out of here alive and I'll tell you everything," he said in a hushed whisper.

And I realized that Roland wasn't afraid of us. He never had been. Even though we had taken care of twently of his guys, he would have more. Many more. He was afraid of something else.

"You know why I have so many people here, Knuckles?" he continued, as though he had read my thoughts. "I'm holed up in here. Cinos has taken everything from me. We're hiding out."

His brown eyes bored into me. "Get me away from Cinos alive and I'll tell you everything."

I should have noticed the guy in the black trench coat enter from behind us. I should have seen him load up a rocket launcher. And I should have seen him fire.

The firebomb exploded just inches from my foot. Had it been an actual explosive and not a stun grenade, I would have been cut to ribbons by the schrapnel or the flames. As it was, the magnesium flare exploded right in my face.

The bright flash and the horrendously loud roar of the flashbang were not lost on me. I was instantly blinded, my ears beyond ringing as my head throbbed horribly against itself. I tried to scream, only I couldn't hear myself doing it. I fell backwards, all sense of direction lost as my panic caused me to roll on the floor, tears running from my eyes in pain.

The next thing I knew, I was in the passenger seat of a leather-lined limosine (try saying that five times fast), my hearing okay but my vision still out at the races. I ran my hand through my long red quills (they could have been polka-dotted for all I could tell). My instincts told me Rouge was driving, and Roland was in the back seat.

"Rouge?" I croaked.

"Oh, you're awake. Yes?"

"What the hell happened?"

"Guy from Cinos shot a stun bomb into the lobby. Almost got me, too."

"Roland?"

"Got harder hit than you. He's in the back."

"Right. Uh, Rouge?"

"Yes, Knux?"

"Thanks for saving my ass."

"You're welcome."

"And thanks for the smoke."

"You're welcome."

"Oh, and Rouge?"

A little exasperated. "Yes, Knuckles?"

"Thanks for being there for a bum like me."

I can feel the heat from her before her lips meet mine. We sink into bliss for a few moments before I break it. "Hadn't you better drive?"

"We've been parked for an hour."

"Oh. Never mind then."

I resume where we left off. Never done it blind.

------------------------

"Rouge?"

"Yes?"

"Are my quills red?"

She laughed softly. "Yes, they are."

The downward spiral of the case to end all cases had just gotten weirder.

Wierder, but not less enjoyable.


	8. Cold Memory

"No questions, no answers. That is the business we are in. We accept it and move on."

- Jean Reno, Ronin

--------------------------

I think that deep down, everybody wishes for the good old days. Those bygone times when life was kind and milk and honey flowed from every street corner. The time, one might say, before the world had moved on.

Somehow, I'd found myself back here, in this room. I'd told myself that this was a pointless and weakening routine, and it was. But I did it, just the same.

The room in my apartment that I've come to think of as "The Shrine" is small, to begin with. Not much bigger than a closet. The walls are sagging, and the wallpaper is past its time, just like the life it was meant to honor. At the center is one austere chair, which I was sitting in, the smoke from my Cuban curling around me so thickly that to the casual observer, I probably looked like I was on fire.

On the walls are the last fragments of the good old days. The last pair of spikes I ever wore. A chip of the Master Emerald. And of course, the photos.

I have millions of photos now, but there is one photo that I keep coming back to. It happens to be the most recent photo as well.

It's a picture that was taken by E-123 Omega two days before the last stand. That one cold, rainy day in February were Sonic and Robotnik both bit the dust. Valentine's Day, ironically enough.

We'd known that it was going to be Sonic or Robotnik in the end. We just didn't know that it would be both.

The photo shows an immaculately green park in Station Square, complete with trees, a pond, and a playground avec kids in the background. That park's now a war zone, a wasteland of broken concrete and broken dreams. The gangs downtown have torn it to shreds. At least, they were tearing it to shreds, before I capped myself twelve guys from both sides.

Again, I digress. When this photo was taken, Mobius was in panic. Robotnik had threatened to plant a nuke by the Master Emerald. He said the excess energy would have ripped half the globe to shreds. He'd clean up the radiation, but not the survivors. End of story, and he came too close for comfort.

All of us were scared that day. No, terrified. We were so scared that Team Sonic actually teamed up with the boys from Team Dark. I've never seen Shadow cry since then, and I'm glad. But fortunately, that doesn't show in this picture.

Maybe why I like this photo is because I think it shows us all as we are – or were, at least. Sonic's wearing the same _I dare ya_ look he always wore, Tails has all the cute charms of a carefree gradeschooler. Shadow has his stern, brooding look that's moody but simultaneously very uplifting. And Rouge has that look on. The look that says she's more than just some happy-go-lucky casino girl turned thief. The look that says she's fighting for something too.

It's hard to say what I look like. I'm not the kind of guy who can honestly describe himself. But, I guess, I look pretty good too. My purple Clint Eastwood eyes, coupled with my smile, give every trace of _God might care if you live or die, but I don't_. But, I guess, it could be taken as a kind gesture, the one that says I'm some one who can help.

I wonder if Rouge has something like this somewhere. Does she have a breeding ground of sadly departed memories, too? Does she have a forlorn hanger with her old jumpsuits (the tight ones that REALLY get me going) limply hanging on it? And does she have this photo, too?

My guess was she does, and it still is. Even while I'm standing here, with the situation as tense as it is. But I'm jumping ahead of myself.

Rouge had taken the keycard, obviously, and had lifted one of the rubies from Shadow's stash, the one that I had chosen. I liked her, yes, I liked her a lot, and she was a great partner, but trusted her? No way. But I hadn't been entirely faithful, I suppose. I had taken more than half of her cash, also from Shadow's pile…

Roland had talked, that much was certain. He'd given us the lowdown on Cinos, apparently the answer to all our problems. The fact that it was in several locations made it difficult, but Roland had said that between ten and midnight tomorrow, the CEO of Cinos, whoever that was, would be in the Cinos offices on Fifth. We'd set up Roland at my place, safe and sound, so that wasn't an issue.

I took one last look at the collection of lost hopes of The Shrine, and walked out onto the street. Rouge was late.

The wind swept across the buildings with a low, mournful whistling sound, like the ghosts of the past crying themselves to sleep. In the dark night, the buildings seemed to tower over me, leering at the echidna who had dared trespass on their grounds. The snow that was falling, as cold and harsh as a bullet in the chamber, caused me to draw my battered coat closer to me. The steel wind almost blew my hat off, rustling my long spines as it did so.

On the note that we would need some hardware to get into Cinos after hours, Rouge had gone out to burgle Shadow's place yet again to try and find something, a key, an ID card, something. I'd have thought she'd have something against knocking over one of her old teammates, but she'd just shrugged. "A job's a job, Knuxy," purred she, and that was that.

The wind picked up, the ghost voices howling now, and I found that I was shivering. I took a swig from my metal flask, sighing as the warmth of the bourbon flowed through my entire body. Rouge was way late.

A couple of loud teenagers, both rabbits, walked past chatting amiably. Both were dressed about preppy-esque as possible, with the kind of body movements that indicate carefree preasure. One of them walked up to me.

"Dude, you have the time?" His happy-go-lucky blue eyes stared up at me.

I smiled down at him. "It's nine-twenty."

He grinned, and started to walk away. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," I muttered at him. _No problem at all. I was like you once – innocent, full of life, everything to do on my mind – and if I can't have that again, by God, you should._

I watched them a moment longer as they faded into the doldrums of the snow. I took one last swig of my J.D. and leaned against the lamppost, the beacon of white in this growing haze of gray.

I thought about lighting up then. I really did. It was a great time to do it, but I guess I'd just had enough with the booze.

That's when I saw the two lights of Rouge's car in the distance. _I'm gonna kill her,_ I was thinking, but the actual turn of events was quite different.

She pulled up right beside me. I gave a stern "Well?" as she rolled down the window. I still wish I hadn't.

I instantly knew that something was wrong. Her white fur was stained gray with soot, and she was shaking. Not from cold, mind you, but from shock. Her clothes were scorched in places, and her fur was ruffled and matted.

She looked up at me and almost screamed, "Just help him, okay?"

It was then that I noticed that there was someone sitting shotgun. I ran around to the other side, practically wrenching open the door.

The crimson eyes were blank and staring. Beneath the mottled fur on his chest came tired, hurt, whistling breaths. The tips of the ebony spines were sticky with cold, panicky sweat. And the seat he was in was a splash pattern of dark, brownish-red stains.

Shadow the Hedgehog was bleeding to death in the passenger seat.


	9. Probe, Scalpel, and Jack Daniels

This might be one of the darker chapters of Knuckles, Just Knuckles, so I think I'll change the rating to R, to be safe. Nothing else you should really know, so on with the show.

- TK

---------------------------------

Rouge ran her finger nervously through her fur, shivering, from cold this time. I'd gotten her a blanket and some bourbon, which had done a real treat.

"What happened?" I asked gently.

"They torched his place. He tried to make a run for it. I guess they shot him."

"How bad do you think it is?" I inquired, a little less gently than before.

"I think he's lost a piece of rib, and his lung's been nicked."

I sighed. Shadow, apparently, had the chances of a virgin on a troop ship.

Rouge, after some silence, said fairly panicky, "I would have taken him to a hospital, but you know –"

" -you thought that if Cinos did this, they'd just finish him off when he arrived at a hospital," I finished.

"Yeah," she said brokenly.

"Hey," I said softly. She looked up. "You did okay."

She gave a small smile, and brightened a little.

I sighed. "I guess it's time to go to work, then."

---------------

An array of sterilized probes, scalpels, and tongs lay before me, plus the greatest tool I own for surgery. The kind that comes in a bottle.

Rouge had got Shadow on the table with his shirt off, and I knew looking at all four holes that it wouldn't be easy. Those wheezing gasps were getting more desperate now. It was time to work.

The first bullet went as smooth as the seat of a girl's panties, so to speak. It had gone in crooked, and not very deep, and so with one deft flick of the tongs, one bloody lump of metal lay on the table.

The next shot had gone into his shoulder, which, although non-severe, had gone in pretty deep, taking quite a bit of meat with it. It was bleeding still – not gushing, but still oozing – and so it looked like the shot had hit a vein.

I took a swig of J.D. By now Shadow was conscious but delirious, endlessly muttering about someone named Maria, whoever that was.

The scalpel lay in my hand, the flat of the blade gleaming in the light above. Gently, I made a slit across the wound, carefully trying to open the hole a little further. Blood spurted out around the blade, soaking my gloved fingers as it did.

It had probably gone about four inches below the surface. I could see the metallic glint of the 9-mil through all the crimson flows. Carefully, oh so carefully, I got out the really long set of tongs. I reached down into the cut I had made, arching my hands, getting ready to begin pulling.

My hands were shaking. I took a swig of the bourbon, waiting for them to settle down. When they did, I tried again.

I reached in, somehow managing to get the tongs around the bullet. I gave a forceful yank, almost letting go of the metal as I did so. It ripped up even more meat in Shadow's shoulder, but it was out. Swiftly, I got the gauze pad, wiping away the gross amounts of blood, applying a bandage as well.

The next one wasn't so tricky, but the damage was. It had taken him in the chest, and, by the look of it, had nicked a rib while doing so. No blood vessels had been affected, so I could move less carefully. I simply moved the bullet out with a probe. Even though there wasn't any blood I bandaged it anyway.

Which left the last one. The hole was in his lower chest. The bullet had gone in perfectly straight, so it was hard to tell exactly what damage was like. I took the scalpel once more, making a medium-sized slit across the hole, which allowed me to see the inside of the wound.

Oh, man.

The bullet had obviously passed close to a lung but not pierced it, judging by the wheezing gasps coming from the wound. Blood was spurting out of the hole in a torrent. Shadow had a pierced artery. Maybe two. Worse still was the fact that this slug was a dumdum, specifically designed to rip up meat when it hits it. Simply yanking it would cause more harm, maybe even opening the lung.

I got the extremely narrow tongs out, but first I wanted to see what applying pressure would do to the bullet. I pressed gently on the wound, moving the bullet up only a micron. Blood rushed out, soaking my hands even through the gloves.

The tongs would have to do. I reached for them on the metal table when the inevitable happened.

Shadow gave a small cough, and as he did, his lip became covered in sickly red juices. The inevitable had happened. Shadow's lung was breathing in the blood.

I had maybe ten minutes to get the slug out and close up the wound. After that, Shadow would drown in his own blood.

Gently, I tried slowly moving up the bullet with the tongs. It got about two inches before it got stuck on some muscle tissue.

I reached for the probe, trying to knock the bullet off the muscle. As I inserted the point of the instrument, I noticed how forcefully the tip was shaking. My hands were at it again.

One mouthful of whiskey later, and I was in business again. Slowly, I pushed the bullet away from the muscle, also moving it away from all the torn tissue below.

That was it. I got out the tongs again. Shadow gave another bloody cough. Time was a-wastin'.

Firmly, I grasped the bullet, pulling at it with all I had. It began to move out, slowly but surely.

I lost my grip. The tongs slipped free of the bullet. Shadow gave a sharp intake of breath – the pain must have been excruciating – but then lapsed back into those weak, wheezing gasps.

If I didn't do it now, I wouldn't ever get it.

I grabbed the bullet, squeezing it with every ounce of effort I had left. I yanked.

And suddenly, miraculously, it came loose. With a sound like tearing paper, the bullet was out. Quickly, I mopped away all the blood in and out of the wound, waiting for it to congeal. When that was over, I lifted the lung just away from the gore, so that it would close up.

And that was it. If the lung healed the miniscule nick in it, and the blood vessels didn't break again, Shadow would be okay in a few hours. After I had stitched up all the holes, I sat back in my chair with a heavy sigh, utterly drained.

Which was when I saw that he was watching me.

"Not bad, knucklehead."

Not bad? I'd just saved his life! Christ, what a world!

But there was something else. Shadow was trembling, and it was then that I realized that he was well and truly scared. He could have been in shock

"What happened to me?" he said, though not in his usually dark, calm leer of a voice. This was a higher, more desperate voice.

"Rouge says Cinos torched your joint and pumped you fulla lead," I replied simply. "Course, you'd know that better than us, right?"

"I'm blanking right now on what happened."

"It'll come back. Just rest now."

"Right," he said blandly.

He lay back, and as he did, I noticed how tense he still was.

"You hurt?" I asked calmly.

"Like hell," he replied. "You have anesthetic?"

"The best," I said, pushing him the half-filled flask of bourbon.

He chugged it in one go. He lay back, significantly more relaxed.

"Knuckles?"

I looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

With that he passed out, mercifully. After his breathing (now back to normal, thankfully) had lengthened, I left him alone, passing out on the bed next to Rouge. We gave each other one tired, broken smile before we both simply dropped from pure exhaustion.

I had a new ally in Shadow, hopefully.

Like I said, the case to end it all…


	10. Worth It

One week and a night later, I couldn't sleep. The fact that I had saved Cinos's primary target meant I was now in the line of fire. Plus, pretty much all our weapons had been lost in the Robco lobby. I was gunless except for my .44 with almost everyone except my four guests against me.

Speaking of those guests, they were slightly worth less than I had bargained for. What with Rouge in my bed, Roland taking the spare mattress, and Shadow on the sofa, I was wondering if maybe it was time to charge rent.

I got up, still wearing my silk pajamas (lifted from a Macy's two years ago). I slipped on my bathrobe, going to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

What strange company I was keeping. I had on my side a shifty mongoose CEO of a bunch of guys who had tried to kill me, the hedgehog/highest-paid assassin in town who was in up to his neck with Cinos, and a bat whom I couldn't trust as far as I could throw, but would lay any day of the week. Was it really so long ago that I'd had to forcibly remove her from this island every other day?

I reached the living room when I caught the scent of hickory tobacco. Shadow was smoking on my balcony.

What a life. I'd just stitched up his lung a week ago, and he was going to dump some nicotine in it. Only one thing I could do. Join him.

I slid open the door to the balcony, taking the seat next to him. I still had some of Rouge's smokes, the really good mint-tobacco ones.

For a moment we just stared out at the lit-up façade of Angel Island. I suppose it's pretty…from a distance. I've told you what it's like up close.

He spoke first, irregular though that was. "Are those Rouge's cigarettes?"

"Yeah. They're really good, where's she get them?"

"She makes 'em herself. You know, rolls up the leaves, licks the paper, gums it together…"

I pictured the perfectly shaped, pink, velvety slip of Rouge's tongue sliding across a cigarette paper. I enjoyed the smoke a lot more after that.

"Oh, by the way, nice job back at my place. Never been pistol-whipped before."

I was a little uncomfortable about talking about my looting of Shadow's apartment (mainly because I was still wearing one of the Rolexes I had stolen), but I could go on. "No problem. I wouldn't have hit you if you hadn't put a gun in the back of my neck."

"What, let you trash the joint?"

"You could have stayed put with Amy. You two seemed to have more than enough to do."

I couldn't see him that well, but I got the sense that he was somewhat grinding his teeth.

"Hey, Shad, if it's the same to you, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"I heard about that case with Richey the Porcupine. How'd you pull it off?"

"Oh, I just took his daughter for a ride. Took her to some carnival. She really is a sweet little girl. Of course, then I told Richey that I'd put a bullet between her ears if he didn't pay."

He continued. "And how about you? That Cream case is pretty famous now. How'd you cause the perfect road accident with her mom?"

I smiled. The Cream case is a personal favorite. "Nothing much. Just popped some of the ol' nitrogen-based fuel in her gas tank, you know, the kind that makes you go really fast. I wonder how fast she was speeding when she skipped the bridge?"

"Nice. You remember Sandra?"

"That fox heiress? Yeah, the one we bumped off?" I asked. Cases get forgettable when you've had so many.

"Right."

"That was nice shooting by you. I've never seen someone strip a vixen to the nude with nothing but a .45."

"Hey, when they're hot enough, you can aim that much better."

"Man, that was great. She was there, standing naked in the hall of the office, we were out of ammo, and she'd got an elevator, right? Wasn't she saying how unprofessional and inept we both were when she stepped into the elevator?"

"She stepped into the elevator shaft, of course, after you took out the floor of the elevator car, right?" Shadow said mirthfully.

"She fell twelve stories. Oh, yeah and she was trying to laugh at us when she did."

"So it came out 'Ah hah hah hah ha-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!'" he mimicked.

"Something like that. Musta been something for the coroner to see."

"A nude chick turned bug goo? I guess so."

I whistled in agreement, letting out a stream of smoke in the process.

"Might I join in?" came the classy, cultured voice of Roland behind us.

"You smoke?" I asked.

"Not yet," he replied. Shadow passed him a cigarillo.

Roland lit it off of mine, breathing it in like a natural. We stared at him. "I smoked in business school," he said, letting out a perfect gray ring of smoke as he did. "Never really lose the habit, do you? Kind of like riding a bike."

"Hell, yes," affirmed Shadow.

"Drinking's the same way," I chimed in.

"Haven't started that one yet. Suspect I will, though." He let a perfect column of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"You know, this is worth it," he stated after a while.

"What?" Shadow asked.

"Losing a business. Life on the edge is significantly more fulfilling, old man."

The "old man" kind of underlined Roland as a stuck-up, but he had a point. He looked considerably more at ease in a tee shirt and faded jeans than he had in the ice cream suit at Robco. Of course, at the time we had wasted a third of his security, so who knows? He ran a hand through is newly tousled hair, obviously deep in thought.

"You have it given to you, you know," he said at last. "Don't waste it."

He finished his smoke. "I'm off to bed. Big day tomorrow."

Shadow and I sat a little while longer, the tobaccy creating a white haze above us.

"I remember what happened now," he said blandly.

"Yeah?" I inquired.

"Amy set me up, plain and simple. Cinos wanted me dead, and she told them. She even plugged me with my 'Eagle'."

I could have told him that the bullet from his Desert Eagle was the dumdum that had whipped his lung, but I didn't. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I want to go to war," he said dangerously.

"I think I can help you with that. Get dressed."

----------------

Hard Rocker's might be my favorite poolhall of all time. It's great because it's so utterly sleazy. Full of all the lowlifes, the air outside is thick with smoke, and not all of it from tobacco. Don't breath too deep if you're ever there.

The air inside is cleaner, but the company is not. If there is a nexus of the mafia, it is here. Every gunner, conman, thug or rapist can find common ground here. But the people who are really at home are those cheap, low-down, adventurers with pistols under their arms. Those worthlessly shifty murderers who would kill their own mother with the right price. In essence, Shadow and I.

The pool tables are clean and that's it for cleanliness. Everything else is a dingy collection of murky underworld-ness somewhat hidden in murky lamplight. There's a junkie for every booth, a whore for every table, a bouncer for every door.

But there is only one Nack in all of Hard Rocker's. And it was he I was trying to meet.

Shadow and I, our coats and hats drawn close to us, walked in, not as tall as some but towering over them all nonetheless. A call girl came up and began to put the moves on Shadow and I. We brushed her aside like a fly, smoke trailing from beneath our hats, the only part of our figures not a silhouette other than our eyes.

Hell's Angels had come to the poolhall.

I spotted Nack in the corner with a hooker on either side of him. Shadow nodded at me, and we glided through the underbelly of Angel Island towards his table.

A really large wolverine bouncer came out of nowhere, blocking our path. "Hey buddy, nobody sees mistuh Nack wid'out no –"

Whatever it was we needed, we never found out. The bouncer was doubled up in pain after my uppercut to the solar plexus.

Nack's up now, all five of his rings visible, his gold-encrusted tooth glimmering in the light. "Hey, whoddafuck do you think you –"

I lift the brim of my Trilby just enough so that he can see who I am. "Hello, Nack. Long time, no see."

Nack's eyes went wide, and he sat back down, the gold and silver chains around his neck shaking as he did so, his fluffy coat settling in his lap. "Uh, hiya Knuckles, um, what can I do for you? Uh, just hope it's not guns…"

"It's guns," I sneered.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't do that no more, pimpin's where the real money's at, right girls?"

The sluts both gave vapid, affirmative smiles.

"Well, that's a shame. I mean…" I continued, pulling out a wad of C-Notes, "…if you're not into it no more…"

"Well, hey, man, since money talks…"

"And bullshit walks. Right."

Nack grinned, displaying his gold fang even more. "Usual package?"

"Four of them."

Nack's eyes bugged almost out of his sockets. "Four? That's a ton, even for me. Well, then the price has got to go up, I'm holdin' on to some very sensitive material."

"Nack," I growled. "Just because we're buying guns doesn't mean we didn't bring any."

"Well, when you put it that way, it kinda makes things clearer. Come on back, let's get you two set up!"

--------------

Twenty minutes later, Shadow and I were lugging six duffel bags into the trunk of the car. As we drove our black sedan away, Shadow looked at me sideways. "How the hell are you going to pay for all this?"

"I told Amy Rose she'd pay expenses. I wire her the bill tonight, and that's that."

"So now what happens?"

"We'll sleep in tomorrow. Get some extra rest, have a nice, fulfilling breakfast, do some yoga, have a shower, get some fresh clothes on, go see a movie with all the guys. Then we load up and tear Cinos apart at 10:30 that evening. I'm sick of this case."

"No more backstabbing."

"And no more smoke and mirrors."

"It'll be good to see it go, won't it?"

"Yeah. And who knows how it's gonna go down, but we'll see, right?"

"Roland's probably sick, too."

"In two weeks he's lost everything. I think so."

"You know, it's weird. He's rich, but somehow, he's just as tough as we are. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah." And that was because Roland was just like us. He was someone who had managed to forget the past, move on, pursue a dream, and with a single instance that dream was taken from him. Just like us. Just like us.

And though I'd never seen him shoot, I had a feeling he had it all in him. I knew he was a sharpshooter deep down.

I sighed. "Have you ever thought of this all as a farce?"

I looked at me. "What do you mean?"

"It's like we're marching to our exit lines, the part where we're removed from the play, and we have to say our lines, and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it."

"Yeah. You mean like we're doomed? Yeah, I've thought that. I wonder what dying's like? Is it like falling asleep, or is it something else?"

"We might find out tomorrow."

"Right."

A somber silence followed, as it does when a couple of battered old gunslingers contemplate their last stand together.

"You know, Roland's right. It is worth it."

"Hmm?" I inquired stoically.

"It's been worth working with you, Roland and Rouge. If I had to die, I guess I could say that it'd just be like old times."

"Old times." I rolled the word across my mouth, feeling the resonance of that word that meant so much. The times when we had been not hired killers but freedom fighters, people who actually stood for something. When we were the defenders of a world green and good and not yet gone. When life, liberty and love meant something to us both.

Could those times be so again? Could we win through?

We'd find out tomorrow.

The case to end all cases was wrapping itself up. Time would tell who would stand at the end.

And time would tell who would fall.


	11. Jericho Hill:Last Stand

(Angel Island, two days earlier)

Checklist:

4 MP5A4 Submachine guns (one per person)

4 Beretta 9-millimeter pistols (one per person)

4 Motorola walkie-talkies (one per person, channel 11)

4 switchblades (one per person)

4 Kevlar anti-frag vests (one per person)

4 crowbars (one per person)

1 Winchester .303 sniper rifle

1 M-79 40mm grenade launcher with four firebombs

1 collapsible M-60 .50 caliber machine gun

3 packs of C-4 with timed fuses

Assorted ammunition, cigarettes, alcohol

------------------------------

I looked up from the list. "Did we miss anything?"

"Other than the kitchen sink?" Roland said.

"Funny," said Shadow.

We were all dressed head to toe in blacks, each wearing a small black duffel bag with the extra stuff.

"If that's all, I'll rev up the car," said Rouge, taking her swingbag with her.

Twenty minutes later, we were driving slowly down Fifth Street. The clock on the dashboard read 10:10. Cinos's boss would be in the building for almost two hours. Rouge was at the wheel, Roland and Shadow in back.

"Okay boys and girls," I begin with a sigh. "Obviously, we all have our own personal vendettas against Cinos, but as it stands, I'd like this one to be strictly a talking mission. I've got the guns just in case, but if at all possible, I don't want a body count on this one."

"You are, of course, referring to the people who have dismantled the dream it took me ten years to build in less than a month," growled Roland.

"The people who shafted me, burned the joint, and left me to die," added Shadow.

"Yeah, yeah, I know your sob stories. But I'd like this one to be on a friendlier basis. No shooting if at all possible."

We rolled down the dimly lit street. In no time at all, we pulled up to the small, ominous office building marked **Cinos**.

"So this is it, huh?" said Shadow. "This is where it ends."

"Yup," I replied simply.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glint from the roof. I had no time to duck before a bullet whizzed through the windshield, clipping my vest as it did so.

"Down!" shrieked Rouge, slamming on the gas.

All hell broke loose as the gunners on the roof opened all fire on our car. From beneath the dashboard, I saw the leather seats as they were ripped to shreds by the hail of lead. The glass shattered, then crumpled inwards, showering us with small fragments.

I watched as the hood slowly caved in with each shot, eventually twisting itself into a mangled lump of metal. The engine caught fire, pouring smoke into the interior.

Rouge crashed the car into a garage door with an unceremonious _whump_. "Get the gear!" was my last exclamation before we all cleared the totaled vehicle.

With the sound of a muffled drumbeat, the black sedan exploded, hurling fragments of twisted metal, broken glass and burning plastic at us.

We stared for a second at the burning mess.

"You know what I said about 'no shooting'?" I asked.

"Yeah?" said Shadow.

"Fuck it," I snarled. "Let's bleed the sons of bitches."

Roland nodded gravely. Shadow lit a cigarillo off of what had been the dashboard. We checked our guns, and then I took a look out of one of the broken windows of the garage.

"Okay. Shadow, take the Winchester. Go to the other window up there and pick off the shooters on the roof. Roland, set up the M-60. Break all the windows on this side of the building. Rouge, when he's done that, shoot one firebomb against the face of the building. They'll put the fire out, but it should keep them occupied. Roland, when that's done, use the machinegun and give me covering fire aiming at the roof. I'm taking down the door."

They snapped into action. Shadow snapped five bullets into the bolt rifle, heading up the stairs for the upper window. Roland began to assemble the enormous machine gun. Rouge dropped a firebomb into the chamber of the grenade launcher with a _clunk_ sound. I grabbed one of the C-4 packs and a fuse.

A tremendous _pakow_ from upstairs followed by the _splut_ of a body that had fallen six stories indicated Shadow had taken his first shot.

Roland loaded a belt of .50 into the machine gun, and the mayhem began.

The discharge of the M-60 was deafening. With a loud _chuddachuddachuddachudda_, the glass against the walls began to look like Swiss cheese against the pounding it was receiving. Brass casings began to rain on the floor of the dusty garage. Glass from across the street fell against the sidewalk in a crashing torrent.

Rouge straightened up behind Roland (allowing me a full view of her thighs), and fired a single _clunk_ against the side of the building.

The flaming napalm spattered out of the projectile, sticking to the walls, incinerating the immediate interior of the building. The oily smell of burning plaster arose over the scene. A few piteous screams emanated from the windows.

We surveyed the scene for a second, and then Roland fired the remainder of his ammo into the snipers on the roof.

I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the C-4 and ran across the street as fast as my legs would carry me. I might not ever have what Sonic had, but I did myself proud.

I pulled myself as close to the wall as possible, pulling one gray lump of C-4 from the bag. I grabbed a few wires and a detonator, plugging it to the wall, just beside the main iron door. My fingers danced across the buttons as I set the timer for ten seconds.

And I ran once again. I could feel the pitiful remainder of the shooters on the roof trying to shoot at me through the smoke Rouge had caused. I could hear the hiss of fire hydrants upstairs behind me. A slug took me in the back, my vest taking the full force of the shot.

And then the detonators blew.

The shockwave was so intense it lifted me off my feet, throwing me unceremoniously into the wall. Rouge and Roland ditched the heavy stuff, and Shadow put down the rifle. We crept across the street, our SMGs in hand.

And eerie silence had fallen as we walked slowly across the street, broken only by the crackling of the fire, which lit up our faces like a Christmas tree.

Roland's gray fur glinted as we came to the wreckage of the door. We looked at each other, Shadow in his stoic zone, Rouge in her moment-of-truth mode, and Roland with steely determination etched in every line. And we walked past.

We were in.

The lobby was unrecognizable as an illustrious corporate office. In a lot of way, I doubted that Cinos was a real company.

A fox leapt out with a pistol leveled at me. Roland cut him in half with a burst from his MP-5.

We walked to the elevator _en masse_ without a word. We pressed the up button. With a benign _ding_ it arrived.

"Third floor," said Shadow. Rouge pushed the button.

We went up. The door opened to reveal an abandoned canyon of cubicles.

And a hoard of guards.

We sprang into action, firing wildly into them all. Bullets dotted the rows of partitions, cutting the office structure into fragments.

We were holed up in an elevator with no room to move. And they weren't shooting badly. I saw a bullet take Shadow in his vest dead center.

We were dead if we couldn't move.

They were closer.

Rouge threw her knife at one, out of ammo. Shadow was down to his pistol, Roland trying to conserve his MP-5 ammo in three-shot bursts.

All of a sudden, a pair of prongs hissed out of the crowd, striking Shadow in the neck. He sighed, and then fell softly against the wall of the elevator car.

They had Tazers.

More Tazer Barbs whizzed towards us, two taking Roland. This time I could hear the electricity humming through the wires as Roland was shocked unconscious.

A voice, somehow familiar, came from behind them. "No, leave them alone…for now."

Rouge and I gasped for air, terrified and exhausted.

"Hello, you two."

Where had I heard that voice?

The crowd parted, revealing the figure still obscured by the dust.

"Long time, no see, huh, Knux?"

The dust began to settle, but whoever it was, he was still hidden in the shadows.

"Been on your feet a while, huh? Well, there's no rest for the weary, like I always said."

My heart sank into my stomach as I realized who it was just as he stepped forward out of the dark.

The blue quills were all the same; the light emerald eyes had lost none of their scrutiny.

He was wearing the same white gloves he had worn the day I had seen him die.

I gave one whisper. "Sonic?"

And then the Tazer bolt struck me in the gut. I felt a sharp sting just before thousands of volts of electricity struck my nervous system.

The vision of the blue hedgehog whom I had once thought of as a brother swam before me, and then darkness took me.

Darkness, and nothing more.


	12. The Caper and the Escape

(Angel Island, three hours ago)

My first sensation of returning to the world of the living was that of pain. My side still throbbed from the stunner, and it felt like I'd hit my head on the way down.

I tried to sit up, and stopped right away. Pain jarred within every inch of my skull.

When I realized that two people were talking fairly close by.

"Oh, Tails, I'm so sorry I shafted you, I should have told you –"

"That's okay, Ames. I know you didn't mean it."

"I want you to know, Tails, you're the only one in my life. I'd never let anyone else take that spot."

This phrase, of course, came from the lips that had kissed Shadow less than two weeks ago. Funny how things work out.

Amy's voice rang through my aching head again. "But I'm so sorry. If I weren't tied up, I'd show you how much I care, Tails, I'd tell you how you make me feel, I'd…"

Half-baked metaphors came streaming out, each one twice as suggestive as the last. Amy Rose was beginning to resemble a bad romance novelist. And with the migraine I now had, each lurid, sappy phrase caused a new stream of stabbing pains in my temples.

" – I feel like I'm on fire when you're around, you foxy woxy bundle of cuddlesome – "

Sweet Lord. And in all likelihood, Shadow, Roland and Rouge were all together, not talking, and recuperating nicely in silence, where as I was lying here in significant pain, having to listen to Romeo and Juliet on crack. What a nice world. What a nice fucking world.

I cleared my throat and sat up. It hurt. A lot. But the lovey-dovey drivel stopped as Tails and Amy realized I was there.

We were in a dimly lit cell, which had mould along one of the walls. Water dripped from a pipe overhead, echoing in the silence. Amy and Tails were both handcuffed to the cell doors.

"Hello, Amy," I growled.

"Uh, hi, Knuckles? Uh, I, um, hired you to find Tails, uh, but I guess I found him all by myself! Uh, thanks anyway!"

I grabbed her by the throat. I could have just snapped her neck like a twig, but I only wanted to scare her a bit. For now, at least.

"You bitch. Do you have any idea how close you've come to getting me killed over nothing at all? For what? You're not getting paid, why?"

Tails butted in. "Sir, do you know who I am?"

"Of course. You're the guy I was hired to find, Tails."

"That would be Miles Prower to you, sir, whoever you are."

That's when I saw that Tails didn't have his glasses on. The boy was as blind as a bat, blind as a drunk, blind as I had been at the start of this case.

"Tails, it's me."

"Who?"

"Knuckles, you dolt." I sighed. I was once again paired with morons.

"Lay off her, then."

"Why?"

"She didn't mean to hurt us. She loves me."

I looked at her. "So she loves you and you love her? Well, don't let there be a 'shadow' of doubt." I stressed "shadow" just a bit, and she went pale instantly. I giggled

That's when Vector came in and pegged me with the butt of his shotgun. Between gasping for breath and in pain on the floor, I heard him say I was wanted.

Wonderful.

-

Sonic sat across of the twenty-four hundred dollar Bombay Co. mahogany desk, his feet up off the floor. He had an authentic Cuban clutched between the two fingers of his right hand; smoke trailed out in snakelike patterns. He sipped from his half-glass of cognac. Everything about Sonic was a memento of the delicate life he had built around himself.

"So, Knuckles. How's life?"

I glared at him, silent to the end.

Sonic's false kindness slipped for an instant. "Vector?"

The headphoned juggernaut with the shotgun brought it down crushingly on the back of my neck.

"Life's fine, thank you."

"Good. I suppose you want to know about what's happened over the last ten years. Time's change, huh?"

"I guess so."

"Of course they do. That's because I said so."

Dimly, I realized that Sonic was nuts. Not just eccentric, but nuts. He had gone completely megalomaniac, with just a touch of an Oedipus complex thrown in to complete the picture. Sonic had lost it.

"Well, it all started with the last caper with Robotnik. You remember how he threatened to blow up Angel Island?"

I nodded.

"Guess what? There never was a bomb. That was something I made up. Eggman was actually coming to Angel because he was retiring. Can you imagine it? The Eggster retiring?"

He laughed, a tittering, unpleasant sound. "Anyway, he had a safe in Station Square. Every penny he ever made was going to be in it. Looked like he was taking a cruise to the banana republics. That's where I saw my chance.

"You remember how we fought him time and time again. And we never received anything for it. Why should the old bum get rich while the good guys got poor? So I decided I'd rob him.

"I spread the rumor of Robotnik planting a bomb at an abandoned warehouse. Angel was evacuated, panic reigned. It was so cool to see everyone pissing their pants over a complete hoax! We even teamed up with Dark, they were so scared. Great, huh?

"You remember what happened. I killed Eggman. But, you know, if you're trying to steal something, being as famous as Sonic the Hedgehog is a problem. So, after I threw Eggman's body off the cliff. I 'fell' along with him. Stealing things is great when they think you're dead.

"After I'd got the old fart's body to shore, I pulled a key, an ID card and a safe number off of him. I knew there would be a thumbprint, so I cut it off of him. But there was a problem. When I went to Station Square to open the safe, the thumbprint didn't work. The security went off. I was lucky to escape alive.

"I couldn't understand what went wrong. When it came to me. Robo-butt wouldn't have used his own thumbprint. He'd use someone else's. Someone close in his organization. Someone like Roland the Mongoose.

"Try, try though I might, I couldn't get close enough to Roland to get a thumbprint. Robco was just too protective of their CEO. So I founded Cinos. The cover was that it was a corporation that dealt with emeralds. The reality was that it was just a front for bringing Robco to its knees.

"But Roland had guessed that I had taken Eggman's keys, and he started hunting for them. He looked for every friend I'd had while I was 'alive', he stalked them, and he'd burglarized them. I needed a secure place to hide the keys. I found Tails.

"And so, without telling Tails who I was, I hired Prower Enterprises to take custody of the keys in a safety deposit box. And for a while, it was good.

"Then the inevitable happened. Tails found out who I was, and threatened to turn over the keys to Robco. I couldn't have that. I 'disappeared' him. For extra security, I hired Amy to hire you to find him, knowing you never would. She's always been ready to do anything for me. Pathetic, really. To top it off, I sent Shadow to put the scare on you. Plus, I needed a new hiding place for the keys. So, on the subway, I personally slipped you the keys to the safe. Roland suspected something, so he sent the Chaotix after you, but you didn't talk. Congratulations."

I started to realize how dumb I'd been to accept this case. I should have stuck to sneaky husbands and shooting people's parents.

"And inevitably, Robco fell. I myself was waiting outside when you killed all his ground-floor security. But that meant I couldn't get close to Roland, couldn't get his prints. So, I tried to take you out. Not kill you, but take you out. Guess that didn't work, either.

"Then Shadow started getting wise. He never found out who I was, but he was just too smart. So, I had Amy fill him full of lead. The plan was to kill him, but once again, you stepped in.

"I was getting desperate. You still had the keys, Shadow and Roland were both still a problem, and you were utterly wrecking my game plan. But I got lucky.

"I got a phone call from Nack, just ten minutes after you left. Knowing the hardware you had, I planned ahead. I got you stuck in the elevator, and you were capped."

Sonic spread his arms in a "here we are, then" gesture. He then looked at his watch. "In two minutes, a strike team will hold up the bank in Station Square. They will only take one thing: a medium-sized safe. Nobody will be killed, and the cops will have nothing to go on. That safe will come to an undisclosed location. Now that I have Roland and both keys, I will soon have more money than God." He gave an annoying cat-got-the-cream smile.

"And then?' I inquired blandly.

"Oh, it gets better. You've made a lot of ruckus over the last two weeks. You burglarized an apartment, you shot up a lobby, you were involved in arson, you bought illegal weapons, and you killed several members of my staff in a drive-by. The cops need a pin-up man. They will find you, Shadow, Rouge and Roland after you killed one another in a firefight. Pretty slick, huh?"

Sonic's carefree, life-is-a-game tone really pissed me off. I tried to rise at him. Sonic snapped his fingers at Vector, who grabbed me from behind. As he drew out a ball-bearing billy club, I could hear the sounds of "Iron Man" from his headphones.

_He was turned to steel_

_In the great magnetic field_

_When he traveled –_

I _really_ hate that song.

Wham.

Or it would have been wham. In fact, it was, but it was against Vector's head, not mine. Sonic was out the door before either of us could react. I finished my crocodile friend off with a knee to the groin, grabbed his gun, and took off towards the cells.

The guard proved to be no problem. He took a barrel-load of shot right in the chest, his tan shirt ripping outwardly, blood spraying over the lot as the shotgun cut him in half.

Rouge was tied to the opposite wall of the cell next to mine. They'd obviously hit her around, but it looked like they'd stopped short of violation. She eyed me, sulkily.

"You know," I said, "I could just leave you here."

"I know," she said.

"Well, you are just tied up there. Very appetizing for a guy me."

"Let me go, you fuck," she growled. "Let's just get out of here."

"No can do," I replied in a chipper tone. "I'd like to finish Sonic off first. Revenge sort of thing."

I "forgot" to mention the tremendous amount of money that would be in store for me if I played my cards right. But hey, one splits a whole lot better than two. I could always kill her, if worst came to worst. "Where's Shadow?"

"Sonic took him and everyone else off somewhere. Said something about a warehouse."

"Let's go."

We reached the garage, where a number of vehicles stood idle. We were about to grab one when a loud rumbling outside caused us to duck behind a series of crates. A huge semi rolled into the garage, its black paint job shining in the lamplight.

I'd only had the shotgun, which had only had one cartridge in it. I was gunless in the face of what could have been a very tricky situation.

The truck stopped, and my heart sank as Espio climbed out of the cab. He withdrew a cigarette from his pocket, and it was then that I realized how long it had been since I'd had a smoke.

He was talking on his cell, probably to Mighty. "Yeah, nice of the S-man to give us a job, now that Roland's in the sack. Right. Right. Well, I just stole a whole lot of stuff here, so you ask him where he wants it. Oh, at the warehouse? Yeah, that's fine. Okay, see you in a minute."

It was then that I noticed a length of steel cable around one of the crates. I grabbed it moved out towards the truck…

-

On the whole, I thought I was to be congratulated for my hiding place. I was right behind Espio's seat in the semi. He can sneak around, but so can I, and I don't need no steenkin invisibility.

He was turning the truck around. I made my move, wrapping both ends of the steel wire around my hands.

"Buckle up, Espio," I said in a low voice, whipping the cable around his neck. Espio made a long series of gurgling attempts to remove the wire that was throttling him, trying to scream but failing. Eventually, he began to flail, letting out spasmodic tries to hit me, or dislodge me. But I held on, and he eventually stopped squirming.

I motioned for Rouge to get out of her hiding place. We were now in control of a truck. And I knew where to go.

There was only one warehouse that Sonic's sick little mind would consider appropriate. The sleazy waterfront warehouse where Robotnik had died.

The place where it had all began. The place where it would end.

I leveled my foot on the gas and moved on.

_I'm coming for you, Sonic_, I thought, grinding my teeth in silence.

_And when I get there, there'll be hell to pay._


	13. Hard Merchandise

(Angel Island, one hour ago)

We were driving along the Memorial Expressway when it happened. We were both in the cab of the truck, smoking like chimneys, when out of the blue came five cars full of flunkeys like Walter Peyton on crack.

The dull roar of a sawed-off shotgun rebounded off the walls of the truck with a clunking sound, knocking in the right window against Rouge's head. Had they been any closer, Rouge would have been perforated, but the glass smashed against her head so forcefully that she was out without a sound.

I looked in my rear-view a second before the shotgun ripped it off. They were closing in.

One guy pulled alongside me with a pistol and started putting lead into my engine like you wouldn't believe. I ducked, and as I did, I saw beneath the curtain that separated the truck from the trailer.

Oh, baby.

I was looking at some of the most impressive stuff on the globe. Laser-guided missiles, GPS systems, guns to go on for days. If illegal merchandise were food, I would have developed an obesity problem right then and there.

I grabbed what looked like an M-16, and rose from the floor, slamming on the gas to bring the truck closer to the car on my left.

The guy with the pistol was still putting bullets in my truck. He stopped to reload, and that's when I kicked open the door and leaned out of a moving truck, the rifle in hand.

"Hey there, fucker!" I yelled, cutting the guy in half with 5.56. He slumped forward over the window he was leaning out of, the glass covered in a red mist.

The driver saw that his gunner was gone, and pulled back, probably loading up his own gun.

A car was behind me to the right, pouring that shotgun into the back of the trailer still. I snapped on the cruise control, and headed into the back, looking for one particular object.

There. A STS handheld rocket launcher.

I grabbed it, heading for the back of the trailer. I flung open the double doors of the rear of the truck, looking out at all five of them behind the semi.

The hedgehog with the shotgun was still pummeling the trailer with round after round. He looked at me for a second, and then leveled the sawed-off at me.

"Wrong, bitch!" I cried, pressing the trigger on the barrel of the launcher.

The firebomb rushed from the nose of the STS with a whistle. A plume of smoke followed it as it streaked towards the car, still whistling the tune of death. As it struck the hood, the metal crumpled beneath it before the whole vehicle was engulfed in flame. I could see the surprised look on the hedgie's face before the concentrated napalm baked it down to a grinning skull.

Toasted hedgehog. Wonder if I could interest Emeril.

It occurred to me that the truck was still barreling down the freeway at fifty miles an hour, so I slammed the tailgate shut and ran back to the cab, keeping a very nice AutoMag pistol with me as I did so. I was sitting there, plunking back shots without any real effect.

When an evil thought came to me.

I reached back into the trailer and grabbed one of the smaller detonators. I set up the remote and threw the charge back into the trailer, pressing the gas down as far as it went.

When I was far enough ahead, I flicked the switch that detached the trailer from the cab. With a loud click and a bump, the cargo was away, slowing down as the four other cars caught up to it.

I snapped my thumb down on the button of the detonator remote.

With a huge column of orange flame, the charge ignited every piece of hard merchandise in the trailer. Two of the cars were wiped out instantly, their engines exploding shrapnel every which way. A third car simply took a mouthful of that shrapnel through the glass, killing everyone inside.

Whoever was driving the fourth car was good. He'd swerved, avoiding the truck bomb and even clearing the shrapnel, too. As he pulled alongside on my left I saw it was Mighty behind the wheel.

Mighty had a revolver in his hand, with which he was taking potshots at me. None hit. Mighty yanked the wheel, bringing his sedan crashing into me.

He was trying to ram me. I couldn't believe it. He was nuts.

He came at me again, but this time I slammed on the brakes just enough for him to end up in front of me. I hit the gas, and Mighty's car was down for the count.

But I wasn't finished. I swiveled the wheel, bringing the truck around, facing the wreck. I pushed the pedal to the floor.

Mighty looked up at me, his eyes wide in surprise.

I leaned out of the window, still clocking 70 mph. "Mine's bigger, pal!"

The last thing he saw was a laughing echidna with red spines that were gray at the tips pushing a semi on top of him.

The car flew backwards, swishing through the ring of fire formed by the flaming trailer, like a basketball through the net.

Two points.

The semi, however, was out. It had taken too much. No danger of it exploding, but it was gone.

I looked at the unconscious Rouge. One splits better than two.

I left her, headed for the third car, which was working save for a couple nails through the windows.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. I wish I could say the same for what happened when I arrived…


	14. Fin

(Angel Island, fifteen minutes ago)

The soft, deadening snow fell against the ground in a silent scream. I was at the warehouse.

I loaded another clip into my pistol. It snapped into place with a resounding _clack_, the sound I've come to love, the sound of carnage.

I placed the gun back in my holster and opened the door.

I found myself face to face with a guard, armed with one of the best-looking rifles I've seen in a very long time.

Of course, this would have to happen _after_ I put the gun away.

The guy was a relatively young-looking hedgehog. Probably his first night on the job. Soon to be his last.

He looked relatively surprised to see me, so I took advantage and punched him hard in the gut. Probably too hard. I smashed right through his stomach wall with a meaty _splut_. I could feel the blood running down my arm.

I let the limp body go, letting it slump to the floor, still dripping. The water reservoirs to the building were next to me, so I cleaned myself off as best I could.

When it hit me. Reservoirs.

I got the siphon hose from the wall. Wonder how much gas was left in the truck…

The center of the warehouse was exactly as I had left it all those years ago. Same empty floor plan, same sterile atmosphere. From my corner, I could see Sonic standing in the middle of a catwalk. An Armani suit completed the image of rich psycho. Shadow, Roland, Tails and Amy all lay in the center. The whole gang, save Rouge. It would have been interesting to know her thoughts at the end of the case to end all cases.

There was an ominous rumble of a semi outside. I took cover behind a crate, watching, catlike.

Through the main doors came a flatbed truck with a two-story bank safe on the trailer. It probably weighed about four tons, but maybe more.

Whatever Sonic had been planning to steal all this time, it was probably worth it.

A lone guard stood on the parapets. I pulled back the hammer on my Prower .44, just in case.

Sonic had gotten Roland to open the safe, and I could see from my place every marketable piece under the sun. Gold, platinum, guns, CDs probably containing more valuable bits of info, and so on. Probably worth a couple bil.

Sonic was distracted, so I took my chances. I was going to kill the guard.

Silencers are supposed to be illegal now, but the law has the chances of a virgin on a submarine of enforcing that one. Of all the gun crimes on Angel, I doubt you'd "hear" three, so to speak. The one I'd picked up in the truck was a beauty, too. Nickel-plated, everything. I screwed it on. Leveling the pistol on my left arm, I held my breath and squeezed the trigger.

There was a sharp hiss as the bullet whizzed from the elongated barrel. The guard slowly slumped backwards into the chair behind him. Had it not been for the bloody smear behind him on the wall, I would truly have thought he was sitting down.

I was still congratulating myself on the shot when in heard the double click of a Raptor 9mm behind me to the right.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I turned around to find none other than Rouge standing behind me, her clothes slightly torn, but her general state more than lethal.

"Nice shot." She lowered her finger to the trigger.

"How'd you get here?"

If a satisfactory reply is a coy little wink, I got a satisfactory reply.

Then the door opened, and another guard came through. "Hey, what the – "

Rouge, not wanting to shoot him, did the more sensible thing, however disturbing. She whirled around, Grabbing the unfortunate weasel in what looked like a soul kiss. In fact, from the slurping noise, I thought it was.

Then I realized what it really was. I could see from the red trickle down the guy's shoulder.

_Rouge had torn out his throat with her teeth._

I could hear from her lapping it up that she'd ripped open the jugular. This dude was dead.

He fell to the ground. Daintily, Rouge whipped out a lacy handkerchief and sponged the blood from her already-crimson lips.

Sickening, but not as bad as punching through a guy's stomach.

"That was neat," I said.

She withdrew a small bottle of Scope. "Yeah, but that guy tastes awful." She drained the bottle, swirling its contents around and around.

"Ah, and you are a connoisseur in other living things?"

She spat it all out. "Somewhat."

"Tell me, how do I taste?"

Before she could answer, a whole team of guards, were at our backs, complete with armor (probably pirated from a SWAT team) and all with FN P90's.

Time for some smartassedness. "Dude, just because they use P90's on Stargate SG-1 does not make it a great gun for you. It's a PDW. Meaning it's meant for people not considered to be high-level combatants. I mean, yeah, it does kick some serious rear, but that doesn't – "

Then someone pistol-whipped me and I stopped.

We were dragged to the center of the warehouse floor to join the rest. Sonic's Van Heusen cufflinks glinted in the light like the barrel of a revolver. How like the man who wore them.

"Well, Knux, I'd give you and everyone else here a farewell speech, but I did that already." He snapped his fingers. "Kill" was the only word thereafter.

"Wait!" said I, loudly. "Can I just wash my hands and have one last smoke?"

"Fine," said Sonic in a bored voice.

I went over to the sink and turned it full on. I struck a match.

"Wait," said Sonic hesitantly.

I ignored him, letting the sink fill up.

"Put that match out!" yelled Sonic.

My only answer was to throw the match in the sink and run like hell.

The explosion physically lifted me off my feet as I grabbed Rouge, Roland and Shadow, violently dragging them into the abandoned safe.

"What'd you do?" yelled Rouge.

"Poured gas down the pumps," I said simply.

All of the fancy weapons were fully loaded, and we silently passed around the more practical ones. I found myself holding a SPAS-12 shotgun, plus my Prower .44. Roland had an MP5K "Mini" in his hand, and Shadow had opted for a CAR-15 single-shot assault rifle. Rouge had two of her old Tech 9's.

"So now what do we do?"

"Well," I said hopefully, "we can hold out here until – "

I was cut short by the _whiz_ of something that passed unbelievably close to my ear. I whirled around to find two smoking holes in the side, one on each side of the safe.

A chill raced up and down my spine as I realized. Railguns. They had railguns.

For those not familiar with one of life's more lethal hand weapons, a railgun is a handy device that uses a high-power magnetic charge to propel a barb made of depleted uranium forwards with super-high velocity and force. In layman's terms, it's a really big gun that fires really big bullets that pierce everything.

Another rail ripped through the walls of the vault, clipping my coat as it did so.

Railguns are powerful and accurate, but slow. Which means we had one option. Run like hell.

I related this to my merry men, and we were off.

The sounds! The throbbing _ka-pow_ of my shotgun, the brawly _brrrrrrrrrt_ of Roland's submachine guns, the _blam blam blam_ of Shadow's rifle, the _taktaktak_ of Rouge's pistols, and the _zzzzzzzzzap_ of the railguns. Tails and Amy, useless to us, still lay on the floor, trying to avoid being pierced by a uranium rail.

I spotted a laser sight tracing my chest. I followed the beam to see a suited thug lowering an RG at me. A couple blasts from my .44 put him down. Three other laser sights were on me. I kept running.

I heard the hiss as the rail stabbed down into the floor in front of me. I changed direction, and four other barbs like it whizzed to the spot where I would have been.

I saw a guy without armor leveling a rail at me. I let my hands take over as the shotgun did its work.

Four more guys ran through the doors. I flipped over to the guy's body, grabbing the railer, zipping off the one shot at the newcomers.

There was a thud as the rail took all four down for the count. And I kept running.

Time had ceased to have meaning. I pulled out my .44, ripping off shots in the hope of stopping the advance of the rails. More had come. Rails buzzed around like angry wasps, only missing by a fraction. I snapped more of the fat red cartridges into the shotgun and opened up, one hand working the trigger, the other the pump.

Only a few were left. I switched the shotgun on the auto and emptied the magazine. I heard a scream. Dimly, I realized it was me.

And that was it. I put two more guys down with my .44 and that was the end. I let the shotgun fall from my hands as I joined Shadow, Rouge and Roland in the middle of the room.

Roland was giggling, an effect I had last experienced in the Robco lobby. "Does it feel this good after every gunfight?"

"Yeah," said Shadow. "Better than smoking, huh?"

"Hell, better than drinking," I chimed in.

"Better than sex," finished Rouge.

We all just looked at her for a second, then burst out laughing. We had done it, we were alive, it was all over. Life should always be so simple, now we could take what was in the safe, and we could – we could do – anything! We all stood there, just too happy for words.

That was, of course, before the grenade fell in our midst. Right in the middle of us all.

We were too shocked for words. We just stared, dumbly, at the ominously smoking hand bomb at our feet.

And Roland did the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Without at word, he simply jumped onto the bomb, just as the hissing of the five-second fuse ended.

There was a muffled pop, like a firecracker exploding underwater. Roland gave one last sigh, and then his head sagged forward onto the filth of the warehouse floor.

In unison, we looked up. Sonic was standing there, on the catwalk, a look of vengeful hatred written in every blue quill.

Choking back tears in my eyes, I raised my pistol. To my left, I saw Shadow and Rouge do the same. Without a word, we emptied every bullet of every magazine of every gun we had left. No longer were we just defending ourselves. This was a hate crime in the strictest sense of the word "hate".

To my grim satisfaction, I saw that Sonic didn't die right away. The first few bullets took him in the legs and arm. Giving one last scream of despair, Sonic sank to his knees as everything else truly ripped him to shreds.

I looked up at the grisly scene a moment longer. I turned my attention back to Roland the Mongoose, the one who was dying to live.

I turned him over, trying not to look at the carnage of his chest. Wierdly enough, a look of dreamy apathy was written on the hero's face.

I told you. I really am sentimental sometimes. This was one of those times. "Roland, I'm sorry. You don't deserve this."

He looked me in the eye and smiled. "I told you. It was worth it."

I smiled back. I understood.

Roland's grin faded a little. "It hurts, Knuckles."

The tears flowed from my eyes as I loaded the .44 one last time. "I know, Roland."

I lowered the hammer back on the gun, placing the barrel's end against Roland's temple. I gave him one last smile. "It's worth it, right?"

"Yes. Entirely worth it."

"Then godspeed, Roland the Mongoose."

And I let the hammer fall.

Silence reigned after the gunstroke had ended. Slowly, birds began to sing, softly. The sun began to rise. It was going to be a rare beauty of a day on Angel Island.

I rose. "Shadow?"

"Yeah?" came the choked reply.

"Get Tails and Amy out of here. Rouge, go with him."

They went. I sat down, lighting one more cigarette. This all made me want to quit. And not just smoking.

The click of a revolver behind me stopped me. I whirled around, my gun out.

Rouge stood before me. "Lotta money there, Knux."

I stared at her. Had none of this meant anything to her?

"And like you said, Knux, one splits better than two."

I leveled my gun at her, and she leveled hers at me.

(Angel Island, Now)

And so here we are.

It had all come down to this. Just me and her, and her and me. We were the only two left.

Her eyes bored into mine, and I just glared back as we paced around one another, seeking a weak point, waiting to see what the other would do.

My options were slim. If I were to duck and roll to the left, could I take out her leg? Or would she cap me first? Another option was to weave to the right and shoot her gun hand. Or I could just stand and fire, and hope that she would respond fast enough.

But there was another option.

I'd seen more than enough in the last two days to last a lifetime. I wanted to stop. All of it.

There was more than enough money there for two to live for life. With that much, we could even bring Shadow along, as long as he doesn't bring Amy or Tails.

And Rouge. Hard to say it, but I did care about her. Even though she stole from me repeatedly. And even though I left her on the highway.

And so I opted for a choice I would never have made otherwise. I let my gun slide out of my hand to clatter on the floor. "I don't want to fight you, Rouge."

"What?" came the surprised reply.

"As I see it, you either shoot me, or you don't. Simple as that."

"But why – "

"And you could take the money. Or you could let me come with you."

"I don't understand – "

"I'll make you understand!" I practically screamed. "I love you, Rouge! And I want to keep that! I haven't felt happy like I could since the good old days!"

I saw a flicker of emotion. Rouge probably did have a Shrine.

"You remember? Being innocent. Having a life worth fighting for. It's not gone yet."

Her resolve hardened. I wondered what she would do.

I put my hands in my coat pockets. "Do what you think is best."

So that's it. That's my story. I've told it, now I'm done.

What happens now? I can only guess. What happens now is entirely up to her.

A smile rose to my lips as I recalled what this had been for me in the first place.

The case to end all cases.


	15. Epilogue: St Frobert, Mon Ami

(Six months later)

You know, so much has happened it's hard to begin.

As you can clearly see, Rouge did not kill me. In fact, she dropped her gun, we both had a good cry and we left with the money, all six bil of it. Shadow came, too, he'd earned it just as much as we have.

And so, one bright day in March, we all left Angel Island forever. We hired our very own luxury jet to take us, and the whole way we were talking and downing that really good cocktail shrimp.

And so we all got off on the lush, tropical isle of Saint Frobert (that's French, that is). Our first stop was to lose the trench coats and get some half-decent duds. Matter of fact, I'm currently wearing a very comfy shirt that I got then…

Rouge and I bought a cozy little home on the hills in front of the beach. Shadow bought his own place up a ways, also on the beach. You'd think he'd be lonely, but he's gotten very friendly with a gorgeous hedgie from town, name's Juanita. Great figure, luscious brown quills, the lot. I'd be interested, but Rouge is more than enough.

We tried just hanging around the beach, but we needed a bit more than just that. And so, that summer, we opened the Roland Bar & Grill in town, in memory of that classy old mongoose we owe so much. Be sure to try the Sautéed Catfish with Spiced Potato, it's our best.

We took the money and buried what was left of it. It's the simple life from now on. Well, semi-simple. We still have our elegant tastes, right?

By the end of the summer we had developed a circle of close friends on the island. With great food, drink and atmosphere at the Roland, we became the toast of the town fast. But not too high in society. I've seen how that ruins people.

So, here I sit, on the beaches of St. Frobert, comfy and cozy in soft, cotton clothes, lying in my chair-bed on the sand, calmly sipping daiquiri. The tide comes in, and goes out; a melody of its own. A light breeze stirs this cocktail of tranquility, gently pushing my quills over my left eye. I'd move it, but I'm too comfortably situated right now. Rouge will probably see me, and come and join me. Good. I'd like her to be here for this. It's too perfect to share alone.

So what comes next? Kids? Haven't thought about that one, might pop that one to Rouge…later. In a couple hours we're headed to Shadow and Juanita's place for drinks. Just friends with friends.

It's funny to think how this all started. "The case to end it all" was my wording. But it wasn't the end, really. It was the beginning. Of everything. My new life.

I'm sure there's some philosophical quote I could use here, but Rouge has just come out in a very catchy silk gown. Definitely casual, but still wonderful. It'll probably come off in another two minutes, but for now, it's nice.

So there you have it. For what it's worth. A story that could mean something to you, or many not. Meaning something can't really matter, not to me right now. I'm happy, and that's what matters.

I'm happy.

Think I'll mix another daiquiri and think about that.

FIN, MES AMIS


End file.
